A letter from the past, to someone who was lost in future
The year is 2007, or… 2009. It’s an evening. It’s a happy evening. You and I are holding hands. It’s probably the first hand of a non-mahram woman I have ever held. It’s Thursday and we are returning after visiting Iqbal House. This is the first and last time I will ever visit Iqbal Manzil till 2022, or maybe even later. I don’t know about an existential crisis. I don’t know about the godless world. I probably don’t even know what the word Goddess means.
Our mothers are walking behind, and so are our siblings. They are busy in their chatter, but we’re living in our own world right now. I don’t know about you, but for me, you’re the only thing on my mind. It’s like “You and I were together, I forgot the rest.”
The only thing I know at the moment is you. You are my only friend in the world. You are the only woman I know. Your hands are so soft, but I don’t realize it. I can remember the last day when I got angry and you hugged me from behind, trying to stop me when I was leaving your house. I am just a kid, you see me as a kid. But I see you as a woman. A woman that I will always know. Or, at least I think so.
I love Atif Aslam’s music. I learned that from you. It might change so much in the coming years, that I won’t have listened to any of his songs in years. These songs will haunt me after you and I separate our ways.
Some months later, you are going to tell me how to open Internet Explorer. One day, I will go to the Internet Cafe, I will open the internet, the first time I will use Facebook on it. I am going to revolutionize the world for the people around me. I will be the top tech guy, at least in my town. All thanks to you. Your dream of being a Telephone Operator will not be fulfilled, I’m sorry to burst that bubble. But you won’t ever read this letter, so… you’ll be happy dreaming, as long as you could.
That revolution will lead me to create goddesses or at least one of them. What a tragedy that neither you nor I will ever find love. You will get married to a normal man. I will watch you leaving from the top of the roof of that marriage hall. I will be so jealous that day. And even having my heart broken by the deepest love of my life, I will never ever get over you. I will upload a status on Facebook, which will be a lot different than it is now. I will say “I don’t think I have the ability to move on.”
You are the only cousin I have ever loved, you are the only cousin that one day, I will truly ever hate.
On a hot day in the summer of 2022, you will text me and I will tell you to go to hell. You will probably complain about this to my mother like you always did whenever I told you to go to hell. But this time, I will not care.
Your name literally translates to rose-bud, and you will always be like a rose to me. I rose that I will lose one day, and will never touch again.
Forever (partially) yours,
The who would get mad at you when you called him “A-R”